


Plucked and Primed

by AJtheBlueJay



Category: Darkwing Duck (Cartoon), Disney Duck Universe
Genre: Childhood, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Elementary School, Family, Father-Daughter Relationship, Flashbacks, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mother-Son Relationship, mean kids, molting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-14
Updated: 2018-11-27
Packaged: 2019-05-07 00:03:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14659017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AJtheBlueJay/pseuds/AJtheBlueJay
Summary: After waking up to his dearest daughter molting before his eyes, Drake Mallard decides to recount his own first molting to Gosalyn, complete with its up, downs, and a valuable lesson.





	1. The Discovery

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RubberSoles19](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RubberSoles19/gifts).



The clock in Drake Mallard’s bedroom ticked 11:00, as the duck sat at his desk, pondering a list he held in his feathered hands. “Alright, I’ll just run it through one more time. Funzo’s FunZone in the morning, Hamburger Hippo for lunch, the skate park till sunset, then Zombie Schoolyard 3 at the movie theatre. Perfect!” He jumped out of his chair with an excited grin on his beak and waddled to the closet, leaving the list on his desk.

Drake had been spending the night finalizing his plans for the ultimate day of fun for him and his adopted daughter, Gosalyn, to celebrate her one-year adoption anniversary. This special day had been on his mind for weeks, and he wanted it to be the best day she ever had with him, so while she was at school, he meticulously listed out all her favorite activities, and crafted the ultimate father-daughter excursion to rival any other.

As he stepped out of his closet, dressed in his nightshirt, he eyed the picture on his desk of him, Gosalyn and Launchpad that was taken not long after her adoption. He picked it up and stared at it fondly.

He began to ponder the memories of his first meeting with Gosalyn, how he saved her and the entirety of St. Canard from the sinister Taurus Bulba. A mini-movie of memories of the night’s events commenced in his mind as he turned out the light and climbed into bed. He settled into his sheets and sighed contentedly.

His little montage had come to the part where she had taught him her favorite lullaby, which contained the activation code to the Waddlemeyer Ramrod, unbeknownst to her. He remembered her sweet face as he tucked her in and sung back the lullaby with his own little spin on the words.

 _Oh, Gosalyn_ , he thought, _what a gift you’ve been to me._

He quietly hummed the melody to that sweet song as he closed his eyes and let the memories carry him to sleep.

* * *

 

Gosalyn awoke to morning sunlight streaming in from the window behind her bed. As her eyes opened, and she stretched the stiffness out of her limber limbs, she felt an itching sensation on her arms and instinctively reached out to scratch. She let out a yawn and began itching, relief finding her with every pass. She sat up in bed and rubbed her eyes, looking around her room, from the door to her basketball hoop and finally to her bedsheets, acknowledging the small pile of fuzzy feathers that lay there with a small nod.

…wait, what?

She rubbed her eyes again, shook her head vigorously and looked back to her arms. Her soft coat of downy feathers was riddled with bare trenches where she had been scratching, and the dislodged feathers now lay on her sheets like excess lint from a dryer.

“Keen gear,” she whispered as she scratched the side of her head, fascinated at the phenomenon befalling her, “am I…molting?”

She recalled the school nurse talking briefly about molting to her class a month ago, but she could barely remember the last time it had happened to her. Brief snapshots formed in her mind of a 5-year-old Gosalyn sticking molt feathers into every crack and crevice of every piece of furniture in the Waddlemeyer household, causing no end in grief for her poor grandfather. Had it really been that long since the last time?

As she itched her cheek, more feathers dropped off her cheek like little cotton balls onto her bed. She looked at the mirror across her room and stared with wide, curious eyes at the bare mark on her face where the feathers she scratched at used to be.

As she stared, she squinted because of the bright sunlight from the window bouncing off the mirror. What time was it? She glanced over to the alarm clock on her bedside table. The bright red digital numbers read 10:26. _Dad’ll be up soon_ , she thought.

Uh oh.

Her eyes grew wide and she gasped as she realized that her dad would probably have a massive cow if he saw what was happening.

“Gosalyn,” she could hear him call out in the hall, “are you awake?”

She gasped and immediately broke out in a cold sweat. He could hear his voice in her head now, blowing this whole event out of proportion. She would be taken to the pediatrician, the dermatologist, the psychiatrist, and the local voodoo priest. Then she’d be stuck at home in bed with her dad doting over her every “symptom”, unnecessarily, with every kind of pill, cream, and syrup under the sun.

Plus, wasn’t today her 1-year adoption anniversary? Her massive day of fun with her dad? Well, it wouldn’t be happening the way she was shedding like a fall tree.

And there was no way she’d be giving that up.

She scratched at her face again, her worries making the itchy feelings even worse. Thinking fast, she positioned herself on the bed so the bare spots on her face weren’t visible, placing that side of her head on the pillow and keeping her arms tucked under the blankets. As the footsteps of her father drew ever closer to her door, she hurriedly shoved the old feathers under the covers, crossing her fingers that she had done enough to erase the evidence. She readied herself as the doorknob raddled and the door swung open.

Drake walked in, dressed in his usual attire of a pink button-down shirt (he called the color salmon), a green, slightly too big sweater vest, and a happy grin. “Good morning, my sweet!”

Noting her cue, she drew out a fake yawn and snuggled into the pillow. “Morning, Dad. You’re not usually up this early.”

It totally wasn’t early, but for Drake, it might as well have been the crack of dawn.

“Well, today’s a special day,” he said as he walked to her bed, “you changed my life 1 year ago today.” He reached out to stroke Gosalyn’s cheek and was met with her jerking her head away.

Gosalyn saw her father immediately raise his eyebrow in confusion. “Uhhhh, you know, dad, I haven’t washed up yet. Maybe you oughta hold off on the mushy stuff until I, you know, get clean.” She flashed a toothy grin to sell her improvised line, hoping it would steer Drake away from the state she was in.

Drake’s confused look turned into a chuckle. “You’re funny, Gos. You and I both know you haven’t taken a bath willingly this past year!” He winked as he said this, and Gosalyn rolled her eyes in response.

At that moment, the left side of her face began to burn with itchiness and Gosalyn couldn’t help but roll onto her other side subconsciously. Before she even realized it, she had blown her entire plan, and the bare spot on her cheek was on full display.

Drake gasped overdramatically, and Gosalyn went bug-eyed, screaming at herself internally for ruining everything with such a dumb move.

He reached out gently to stroke the bald spot on her face, feeling the fuzzy downy feathers turn into coarser, more mature feathers where one met the other. He yelped a little bit when more of the fuzzy coat was lost to his touch, and he rubbed the fuzzy feathers in between his fingers.

“Uhhhh, it’s not as bad as it looks, dad!” Gosalyn quickly said, scooting away from Drake’s arm until she unwittingly scooted off the bed and fell with her blankets into a heap on the floor. The feathers she freed already were kicked up in her blunder, and Drake watched them float through the air with a flabbergasted expression.

He couldn’t believe it. His daughter was molting.

She was growing up.

“Gosalyn…you-you’re…molting!” Even as he said it, he still couldn’t fathom it.

“I-It’s not noticeable, dad. No need to change plans!” she assured him as she bounced up, trying to salvage their day, subconsciously itching at her head again. She saw the downy feathers come out by the handful, and both her and Drake did a double-take. She stared as they floated down and settled on the floor beneath her. As Drake turned his gaze back to her, beak agape, all she could do was chuckle nervously and put her hands behind her back in a nervous pose. “Well, maybe a little noticeable…”

Drake sighed and rubbed the back of his neck, regaining his composure. “Well, this is a prickly predicament.”

Gosalyn frowned as Drake put his hand to his chin, his eyes narrowing as he began to think. There was no way their grand day out was happening now, and it was all her fault.

Well, it was her body’s fault, but she couldn’t help the guilt that swam in her stomach right now. She knew how much this day meant to her father and now it was all shot, because her body had randomly decided to shed like a madman. She wasn’t even consulted on the matter.

Drake didn’t know what to do. This was all new to him and through his cool, thoughtful exterior, he was panicking.

And she looked so disappointed. Wasn’t there…guilt in her gaze as well? This day had thrown them a serious curveball, and Drake struggled with how he might still be able to get the home run of a day he desired for the both of them.

He muddled over the right words before saying, “Well…why don’t you get dressed, and we’ll talk over breakfast, okay?”

Gosalyn gave a slow nod as he walked out of her bedroom still deep in thought. Gosalyn sighed dejectedly as she slogged to her dresser. Not even her favorite jersey was gonna fix this mood.

Drake had prepared her favorite puck-cakes, hockey puck-sized pancakes with 10 times the sweetness thanks to maple syrup baked into the cakes. As he munched on them, he studied Gosalyn, who was fiddled with her cakes, poking and prodding them with her fork. The disappointment in the air was palpable.

Drake gulped down his bite and put down his knife. “Is everything okay, Gos?”

“Why’d this stupid molting have to happen today?” she grumbled, stabbing her puck-cake with fire and fury.

Drake gulped again at the sight. And that puck-cake didn’t do a thing to her.

“It’s a natural process. It just happens when it happens.” Drake said gently, wanting to reassure her.

“Yeah, well, it could’ve waited until after we had our day of fun!”

Drake could tell she was very upset. He couldn’t blame her. This was a heavily anticipated day between the two of them, and now it seemed to her that the downy feathers she couldn’t help but itch off in places had put their plans down the drain.

Drake wanted to make her feel better. He debated in his mind for a way he could distract her from this untimely event and help her see that it wasn’t her fault.

He had the perfect idea.

“Gos, have I ever told you the story of my first molting?”

She looked up at him, her look of sadness replaced by a hint of curiosity. “What? Did you ruin a day of fun with your parents too?”

He got up from the table and ruffled her hair, surprised that the feathers on her neck wouldn’t budge as easily when he moved his hand there. “No, silly, I was at school.”

Now she was interested. “At school?”

He tossed his dish into the sink like a frisbee and said, “Meet me in the living room. There are some pictures I’d like to show you.” With a pinch of her bare cheek, he left Gosalyn in the kitchen with her half-eaten breakfast.

A few minutes later, he sauntered down the stairs, slinging a stack of pictures he’d retrieved from the attic. He strolled into the living room and plopped them down next to Gosalyn on the couch, who immediately grabbed the first one off the stack. She giggled a little bit at the duck she saw in the picture.

He was a young duckling, his large bill and feet the most prominent features. He was dressed in a brown hunting hat, pink button up shirt, green sweater vest, and forest green slacks. He slouched a little bit and wore a timid smile.

“Dad, is this you?” Gos said as she pointed at the awkward duckling.

Drake gave a sigh as he sat down next to Gosalyn. “Not my most flattering picture.”

“You look like your mom dressed you!” Gosalyn laughed, realizing where he probably got his atrocious fashion sense from.

“She did, and she loved those clothes on me!” said Drake, acting offended at her snide remark.

Gosalyn took another look at the photo and noticed a similarity between her and this young Drake. “Hey, these feathers are the same color as mine.” Despite the dark stripes that patterned his downy coat, young Drake wore the same sandy-yellow feathers as the ones Gosalyn was shedding this morning.

“Yep, yep, yep,” Drake sighed as he scooted closer to his daughter, putting an arm around her, “and I lost them all one fateful day…”


	2. Drakey Mallard's First Molting

It was a normal spring day in St. Canard. The school bell had rung its familiar chime and a 6 ½ year old Drakey Mallard, that’s me, walked through the doors of St. Canard Elementary, ready to welcome another day of learning.

As I marched into the gym to await my teacher, I was greeted warmly by my classmates. “Hey Drakey! How do you find shoes for those big feet of yours?” a boy called out. A few kids around him giggled quietly.

Yep. My beloved peer groups.

The day had proceeded like normal. Just your average elementary school subjects. ABC’s, 123’s, colors, shapes, what have you.

But everything changed after lunch, during…arts and crafts.

* * *

 

“Dad, do you need to do the dramatic voice?” Gosalyn interjected, breaking her dad’s concentration.

“Gosalyn,” Drake replied, visibly annoyed, “this is where it gets interesting. Now don’t interrupt.”

* * *

 

While others went with the standard marker drawings or crude play dough sculptures, I had chosen this particular day to do a macaroni art picture. I crafted a faithful rendering of my idol, Superpig, meticulously placing each piece of pasta with painstaking precision. The glue was rather messy, though. I couldn’t keep it off my hands, no matter how hard I tried.

Granted, today I would be laughing at what I thought was careful all those years ago.

As I tugged the sticky substance from my arms, the glue began to take my downy feathers along with it. I was astounded, just like you probably were, Gosalyn. The ball of slimy paste that was once on my arm was now covered in my soft, fuzzy feathers. My curiosity getting the better of me, I itched near the bare spot, and more feathers started coming loose and falling onto the table.

I couldn’t fathom what was happening to me. These were the only feathers I had ever known, and it mystified me how I was now able to pull them off like blades of grass in my hands.

At that moment, the teacher got our attention with a rhythmic clap. “Class, I am stepping out to the restroom. Be good while I’m gone!”

“Yes, Mrs. Lilypad,” we all said in unison. She stepped out with a smile, and that was our cue. The classroom erupted in chatter and I found myself caught up in it all, my molting predicament pushed to the side of my mind.

“What did you make, Drakey?” Brian Sorreltail asked me. I held up my masterpiece proudly for him to see, but that was not the first thing that caught his eye. “Uhhhh, what’s that?”

“It’s Superpig! He’s my favorite superhero,” I said, puffing my chest out slightly.

Brian was quick to correct me. “No, Drakey. On your arm.” He pointed at the bare spot on my hand with wide eyes.

As I looked back at my hand, I suddenly felt a wave of self-consciousness wash over me.

I handled Brian’s question the best that I could. “Uh, it’s nothing!”

He reached out to pull off a spare piece of drying glue from my hand and was shocked to pull out more feathers from my itchy appendage. We both stared at it, unable to believe our eyes.

Brian turned to Samantha Chestnut, tapped on her shoulder to get her attention, and presented the procured plumage to her. “Look what I just pulled off Drakey!”

Her eyes bugged out like ours and she glanced at me. I could only flash a sheepish grin.

“Wow, Drakey! Can all your feathers do that?” she said, louder than me and Brian had been. Samantha had never been the best at using her inside voice.

“Uhhhh, look, let’s just leave it be. I-it’s not a big deal,” I stammered, having no idea what “it” was. But, frankly, with the sly look that Samantha was giving me, I didn’t want to know. A few kids looked up from their conversations and faced us, curious as to what Samantha was saying about me. It seemed as though there was a spotlight on me, and I felt each and every eye in the class staring intently. Against my will, I began to break out in a cold sweat. The sweat contributed to the developing itchiness on my face and I couldn’t help but scratch my cheek, a few feathers fluttering free. I squeaked as they floated to the floor.

Samantha turned back to Brian. “What did you do?”

“There was glue on his hand, and when I pulled it off, the feathers came off too,” he answered back.

Samantha’s face contorted into a crafty, conniving grin that I had never seen the likes of before, and I gulped, my face awash with fear.

* * *

 

“You know, this Samantha girl sounds like a real jerk,” Gosalyn pointed out, standing next to her father as he dusted the living room shelves, “What did you ever do to her?”

“Absolutely nothing!” Drake replied, then added under his breath, “apart from spilling chocolate milk on her dress 2 days prior…”

“Wait, what?”

“Uh, nothing!” Drake said quickly, marching over to the next bookshelf.

Gosalyn gave him a scolding look. “What was that about chocolate milk?”

Drake rolled his eyes, exasperation tinging his voice, “Alright, but that’s only because Pigsty Pete tripped me on the way to the lunch table!”

“Pigsty Pete?” Gosalyn snickered at her mental image of whoever this kid may have been.

“Look, none of that’s important! Now, where was I…?”

* * *

 

Oh yeah, that look. I’ll never forget that look.

Because that was when all rules were off.

Samantha shouted, “Guys, if you put glue on Drakey, you can pull his feathers off!”

“Cool! Can I try?” a kid near the window shouted.

“Me too!” said another.

I was very scared now. “Stop! They’re my feathers, and you can’t touch ‘em!”

But my feeble words fell on deaf ears. Brian grabbed the glue and then my other hand before I could do anything.

“Watch this, guys,” he called out, then he began slathering the gooey paste on thick as I tried to wrench my hand away. The entire class gathered around the table where we sat, captivated by the spectacle they were witnessing.

I tried to wipe the glue away the best I could, but feathers came off my arms in clumps, the glue sticking fast to them. As I grabbed the glue and tore it off me, it splattered onto my clothes and onto the table, stray molt feathers coming along for the ride. My face flushed a vibrant red.

The reaction in the room was undoubtedly a mixed bag. Some were starry-eyed at this strange phenomenon. Some laughed and began cracking jokes as I itched more feathers out nervously.

Before I could even think, a group of kids rushed me, glue on their hands ready to add to my embarrassment. Before I could think, the entire class was all over me! My entire body was riddled with glue, handprint by handprint, and Samantha made it a point to pick up each fallen feather and fixate it to my nice clothes. The jokers in the class picked up some feathers and tickled me under my beak. I screamed at them to stop but they wouldn’t listen. Their fascination at my cruel misfortune got the better of their senses and all I could do was sit like a punching bag and take it.

As tears filled my eyes and it seemed like the torture would never end, a shocked grown-up’s voice immediately steered everyone’s attention away. “Class, what on earth is going on here?!”

Everything paused. We all recognized that voice. It seemed Mrs. Lilypad was back from the restroom, and she was not happy.

Guilt immediately spread itself thick on every student, like peanut butter on a sandwich.

Samantha, the mastermind, was the first to speak up. “Look at our arts and crafts project, Mrs. Lilypad!” She put up an innocent grin as the class revealed me to our flabbergasted teacher and dropped me on the floor with a thud.

* * *

 

Gosalyn cracked up at Smantha’s line of dialogue. “Did they really say that?”

"Yes, they did," Drake said with a raised eyebrow and a smirk, "Seems like something a certain daughter of mine would say as well."

Gosalyn pushed her father playfully with a smile. “That was a cheap shot, dad.”

Drake gave her a noogie and lifted her over his shoulder as the two giggled innocently.

“So, what did you even look like after that dogpile?” Gosalyn inquired as she was carried upstairs.

Drake sighed, walking into Gosalyn’s room to continue the story.

* * *

 

I looked down at myself and squawked in shock. I was convinced the kids turned me into a mutant. The clothes my mother picked out for me were ruined, a mess of sticky glue and fuzzy downy feathers, and bare spots riddled what was left of my feather coat.

Every emotion began to boil over in me all at once. I was extremely embarrassed that I was made a fool of by Samantha, sad that my clothes were messy, angry at the class for what they did, and scared more than anything else. I was ready to tell everything to Mrs. Lilypad, how Brian made the initial discovery, how Samantha pointed that malicious gaze my way, and how the entire class tackled me like a football team.

But as tears began dripping down my face, all I could do was run over to Mrs. Lilypad and wrap my arms around her legs, while babbling like a madman. She lifted me into her arms as my incoherent babbling grew louder and I saw her cut the class down with a curt glare. Their sorry faces did nothing to ease me and I buried my face in her shoulder.

The bell suddenly rang. Kids rushed out of every classroom to enjoy their recess, but Mrs. Lilypad had other plans for hers.

“Class, you’re going to stay inside for recess,” she began as the class gave a collective “awwwwwww”, but a quick shush from her ended their griping in a hurry, “Mr. Brigerton will watch you all while I escort Drakey to the nurse. We are going to have a long talk about this when I return, are we clear?”

“Yes, Mrs. Lilypad,” they all said in unison. With that, Mrs. Lilypad turned on her heel and carried me away as I wiped the tears from my eyes.

At the nurse’s office, I had finally calmed down enough to relay exactly what happened to Mrs. Lilypad, and I spilt it ALL. The beginning, the middle, the end, the subplot, the surprise twist in the third act, the whole enchilada. I leaked it all to her through a filter of flowing tears and hyperventilation as I relived the trauma bit by bit. After I finished, she hugged me and reassured me that everything was going to be okay.

She explained that I was not going bald, like some kids were telling me. I was simply molting, and that a fresh coat of better feathers was waiting for me underneath what was left of the soft fuzz. I nodded as her buttery voice soothed my woes, and soon I was relatively calm again.

“I’m going to call your parents so they can take you home. And believe me, I’m going to make sure that nothing like this will ever happen again,” she told me with a pat on my shoulder. I sniffed and nodded, wiping tears away again. Thus, she stood and left the nurse in charge of me.

Mrs. Lilypad was such a good person.

As the door to the office closed, I was suddenly smacked with the realization that my mother and father were going to see what had happened and throw a massive fit. My mother would see what happened to my clothes and think that I dirtied them on purpose. She would be soooo disappointed.

The fear washed over me in an instant and my tears began flowing anew, quiet cries escaping my beak.

The nurse took notice and patted my shoulder. “Don’t worry, little child. Everything is going to be fine.” I appreciated the sentiment, but it didn’t do much to calm me down, and I continued to sob quietly next to her desk.

Suddenly I felt something being shoved into my mouth. I glanced over quickly to see the nurse feeding me one of the peppermint candies she kept on her desk. I pouted a little as she smiled at me and threw away the wrapper. Still, it tasted good and so I sucked on it quietly. Every now and again, I would sniffle, and for some odd reason, the nurse saw fit to give me another peppermint. I didn’t have the will to say no to the candy, so this strange cycle just kept happening until I was stuck with a beak full of peppermints and a sour expression on my face.

* * *

 

 

 “Yeah, like ‘why are the mints so sweet, but this day so sour?’” Gosalyn pointed out.

Drake echoed Gosalyn’s laughter. “I guess she concluded that the mints were making me feel better. To this day I have a strange relationship with peppermint…and nurses.”

* * *

 

After a while, I quietly spit the many mints out in the trash tin tucked away next to her desk. Not long after this interesting event, a knock resounded throughout the room, and my mother showed herself into the office with a concerned expression. The mere sight of her threw me into hysterics, and I jumped from the chair and ran over to her, blubbering once again like a kid half my age.

“Mommy!” I cried, and she hugged me tight.

“Shhhhhh, it’s okay, Drakey,” she soothed.

My mother was an amazing woman. She had an air about her that would melt all your worries as soon as he walked into a room. As I squeezed her legs tight, all my worries seemed to lift off of me, and I sobbed happy tears just having her near me.

She continued to hug me as she walked me from the office to the old family car.


	3. The Takeaway

“And that’s pretty much how it happened,” Drake said as he finished sweeping the last feather from Gosalyn’s floor.

“Jeez, Dad, did they really do all of that to you?” Gosalyn asked, astounded.

“Yyyyyyyyep,” Drake said with a sigh, “Kids can be so cruel, eh, Gos?”

Gosalyn enjoyed the tale Drake had told her, but confusion still painted her face as she had failed to see the point in him recalling this stain on his childhood. “I don’t get it, Dad. Why’d you wanna tell me that story if it’s such a downer?” she asked.

Drake chuckled and put a hand on her shoulder. “I’ll admit, any normal kid would be traumatized living a tale like I told, but do you know what? When my mother took me home and cleaned me up, she helped me see the sun beyond that grey cloud of a day.

“You see, as she bathed and brushed me down to remove all that nasty school paste, I was taught one of my greatest lessons…”

* * *

 

“I certainly wish your first molting could’ve happened under more ideal circumstances,” my mother said, brushing me gently as I watched the loose feathers fall into the tub and float in the warm, soothing water.

“I wish I never molted. then the kids wouldn’t have been so mean to me,” I sniffed.

My mother scratched my head gently. “Drakey, molting is a part of life and it happens when it happens. Things may not go your way and the day may seem dark, but do you know what?”

“What, Mommy?”

“After you’ve faced the hardship and cleaned up the mess that was made, you are left…well, plucked and primed for what’s ahead in life.”

* * *

 

“That little phrase captivated me. Not only did it sound nice rolling off the tongue, but I would later find it to be undoubtedly true,” Drake related as he and Gosalyn walked down the stairs once again, “After a good brushing, the rest of my old feathers came out without much fuss. I even preferred my new gleaming white feathers to the old ones I knew! I still wasn’t sure about the stripes but that’s neither here nor there.”

The two ducks sat once again at the couch and Drake continued, “With anything you face in life whether it’s a dastardly villain or a simple book report, you can make it through whatever hardship comes your way. Because once you do, you’re plucked and primed for whatever may come next.”

At that moment, he had a very bright idea. “So whaddaya say, sport? Ready to get plucked and primed?” Drake put on a toothy grin, hoping Gosalyn wouldn’t be able to catch on to his ulterior motive, but the ever-sharp duckling could see right through him.

“Does this mean what I think it means?” she said, casting a suspicious look in his direction.

Yep, she totally knew. And Drake didn’t care.

He snatched her up without another word, his lightning fast reflexes coming in very handy, and slung her over his shoulder like a bag of wheat.

“Dad!” she squeaked, and immediately began to tickle him. She got him in the right spot too, for he was soon squirming and wobbling around the living room, giggling like a circus clown.

“Gosalyn, st-haha-st-stop that!” he protested through hearty laughs. He could feel Gosalyn slipping off his shoulder, and her weight brought the two laughing ducks crashing into a bookshelf. Books tumbled onto Drake, and Gosalyn quickly jumped to her feet and zipped away, stopping in the living room’s archway.

“Come on, Dad,” she taunted, “you and I both know I haven’t taken a bath willingly this past year. Wouldn’t want to break a perfect record.” With that remark, she was off like a shot toward her room.

Drake jumped up quickly, throwing fallen books to the side. “Perhaps Darkwing Duck has something to say about that, little missy!” he called out, and dashed away to chase after his daughter.

She was getting that bath. It was not a choice.

 

And she finally did get in the bath. After being chased around the entire house twice.

Despite her protests, Drake lathered her up in his special molting soap, and began to brush at her coat diligently. She wouldn’t say so, but the warm water combined with whatever was in that soap was incredibly soothing on her itchy skin.

She hoped she would NEVER get into a habit of enjoying baths, or Drake wouldn’t let her hear the end of it.

The downy feathers still clinging to her were coming out easily thanks to his special formula, and afterwards, she felt much better, having shed the excess weight.

Looking in the mirror, towel wrapped around her, she admired her new feather coat. They were the same sandy yellow as her downy coat but had a different texture about them. They were stiffer and stronger than the dryer lint she once wore, and the whole coat just screamed “big kid”. The mature feathers gleamed in the bathroom light and Gosalyn took great delight in posing in front of the mirror while Drake looked on, a smirk on his beak and some bathwater on his vest. There was her spirit shining through once again.

As she dried off, Drake asked her how she wanted the rest of the day to go. It was still her special day, after all.

She sighed. Part of her still wanted to go to all the places they planned, and the other part of her was just unsure. “Well, what do you usually do on molting day?” she asked her dad.

“Well, after a particularly…uncomfortable situation with the Liquidator, I’ve made it a point to stay home whenever I molt. But it’s your choice.”

Drake heart began to melt as Gosalyn said meekly, “We can stay home if you want, Dad.”

Darn it if she wasn’t the greatest daughter a duck could ask for.

He scooped her up and kissed her on the forehead. “For you, Gosalyn, anything.”

 

Despite not visiting any of the places Drake had planned for, he and his daughter had a very memorable day indeed. They competed fiercely in all their favorite board games, with Gosalyn winning most of them, even Trivial Trivia.

Drake made a mental note to ask how in the world she knew Swahili.

The Muddlefoots dropped by to invite them over for lunch. For his daughter, Drake decided to grin and bear it, despite his deep hatred for his airheaded neighbors. Gosalyn enjoyed telling Honker about her molting and the two played football in the backyard while Herb regaled Drake about his latest Quackerware exploits. The stories were incredibly boring, but the burger he munched helped him tolerate it. It tasted pretty good too, but Herb wouldn’t be hearing it from Drake.

When Launchpad arrived home from his day in Duckburg, he found a grilled cheese and tomato soup sinner waiting. When he asked if Drake was molting again, he was amazed to learn about Gosalyn’s molting and absolutely gushed over her new feathers. As they ate, he relayed the story of his own first molting and Gosalyn laughed at the crazy time had by him. After dinner, they rented her favorite movies and watched them late into the night, with Launchpad shielding himself from the scarier parts, Gosalyn hooting and hollering for the main characters’ success, and Drake wincing at the gorier parts of the film (should she even be watching those?).

As she walked into her room dressed in her nightshirt, she was surprised to find her sheets removed from her bed. Something was up, but she didn’t need to play detective for long as Drake walked in with a present. He tossed it to Gosalyn, who immediately took to opening it with abandon, because present.

“Keen gear…” she breathed, marveling at the cool-looking bedsheets she had been given. They were in her favorite color, the comforter had Death Scooter, her favorite comic superhero on it, and, best of all, the set was lacking a label that said, “For baby/downy feathers”.

She hugged her dad tight, squeezing him around his neck. “Thanks, Dad.”

He returned the hug and kissed her cheek. “You’re welcome, Gos.”

The day had not turned out like either of them had expected, but it was still a grand success in Drake’s eyes. The battle with Taurus Bulba one year ago left him battered, bruised, and scarred. But he realized today that meeting Gosalyn and saving her had left him plucked and primed once again.

Plucked and primed to be a father.

And there was no other daughter he would rather raise than that spunky, spirited duckling in his lap right now.

“I love you, Gosalyn.”

“Love you too, Dad.”

* * *

 

Drake awoke the next morning with the blaring of his alarm clock. He silenced it quickly with a great whack and sat up in bed with a grand yawn. He immediately felt an itching on his scalp, and reached out to scratch instinctively, still half asleep. He took notice of the feathers that fell on his sheets as he itched the feeling away.

Wait, what?

He couldn’t be. Not today. It was too perfect.

He snatched up the feathers to investigate them further. They were sandy yellow and fuzzy to the touch. The pieces began to click in his mind as he faintly heard giggles outside his bedroom door.

“Very funny, Gosalyn,” he called out. Gosalyn burst into full-on laughing at her little prank and ran downstairs to await her dad.

Plucked and primed, indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to RubberSoles19 for inspiring this with her amazing headcanons, as well as to her, RebellingStagnation, LadyAriaa, Pharaoh-Ink, and many others for their support. Y'all are great friends in this fandom and I'm very happy to know you.


	4. BONUS: Hard to Swallow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remember Drake mentioning an uncomfortable situation with the Liquidator in part 3? Well, this is why he now stays home during his molting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had this idea for a while, so I thought I'd give y'all some bonus content for this story. Again, it's based on Rubbersoles19's headcanons, so thanks for inspiring this, Bec!

As the blue smoke spread out through the sewer, Darkwing Duck announced his arrival. “I am the terror that flaps in the night! I am the itch you cannot reach!” He cleared some smoke with a flap of his cape, revealing himself to his enemies. “I am Darkwiiiiiing Duck!”

“Well, look who came to play,” said Quackerjack, rubbing his hands together.

The Liquidator stuck out his snout from behind the giant assembly machine, and his ears perked up. “Why, it’s the one thing that has the whole nation hooked! The new C4 Teddy Bears from Quackerjack Toys!”

Darkwing’s pupils shrank and his chest deflated when it was clear that Liquidator was not referring to him. “N-not if I shut you down first!” he shot back, pointing at Liquidator.

“It’s PLAYTIIIIIIME!” Quackerjack shouted, loading his arms with bears and lobbing them at Darkwing. The hero cartwheeled past each one as it flew by and detonated on the concrete. As he righted himself and raised his arms like a gymnast, a lucky bear clipped his beak, blowing him backwards. Darkwing landed on his back inches from the flowing sewer water.

Darkwing shook the blast from his head as soot-covered feathers floated by in his peripheral vision. His stomach tied in a knot. Those were his feathers! Before he could think another thought, a cackling Quackerjack yelled, “Sic ‘im, Liqui!”

Darkwing yelped as water filled his beak and he found himself suddenly surrounded by clear, crisp water. The Liquidator had swallowed him whole! Though he was held fast inside Liquidator, he kicked his feet frantically, trying to swim out. More of his molting coat was released with his struggling, and he saw them float throughout his watery prison.

Though muffled, Darkwing could hear the Liquidator cry out in disgust, which turned into a gag. Then another.

Darkwing felt the water surging him up and out of Liquidator, where he met the concrete once again, cold, soaked, and very uncomfortable.

He sat up to see Quackerjack doubled over in laughter, and Liquidator doubled over, coughing up feathers. “I guess that’s one way to pluck a duck!” laughed Quackerjack, falling backwards and rolling on the ground.

Liquidator spat out the last feather and shivered. “Yuck! I did not sign up for this when I agreed to be your marketing director!”

“Call it an unforseen circumstance and brush it off, Buddy,” said Quackerjack. “HA-hahaha! Get it? Brush? Molting?” He leaned back and howled at his joke.

Darkwing’s face was bright red, he was so mortified. There was no way he was going to take this lying down. “Brush this off, you devious delinquents!” He shot his gas gun at the Liquidator, who stopped his chuckling to see a liquid nitrogen cartridge flying toward him. He gasped as it splashed into his abdomen and froze him to the spot.

“Hey! I paid good money for him, spoilsport!” Quackerjack protested. Darkwing responded with a triple flip web kick that shut the joking jester up.

* * *

 

“And then I tied them both up and sent them to the cooler.”

“Gee, DW,” said Launchpad McQuack, “I’m glad you were still able to save the day, what with you being swallowed by the Liquidator-”

“Don’t bring it up, please!” shuddered Darkwing. “Being swallowed and vomited by a dog made of water isn’t the most pleasant experience.” He resumed brushing his arm, seeing the feathers flutter off in droves. “Doesn’t help that I was molting and didn’t even realize it until it was too late.”

“What are you gonna do next time you molt?” asked Launchpad, sweeping up the feathers into a dustpan.

“Well, LP, I’m going to do what any other hero of my caliber would do: STAY HOME!”


End file.
